Today Mark and I walked through snow 6 inches deep to discuss the pruning cuts we will make this year.
A large watersprout is coming off the yellow delicious apple, and some branches are being trimmed away from the young red oak (the red oak is a volunteer, right on the fenceline but in my eyes of more value than the apple. Oak trees. Something about oak trees.)
We had agreed to a radical reprune of both our apple trees last summer, and now we can't remember just what we had decided to do. This trip around the yard? We marked the branches that will be culled with string.
The crabapple in the side yard we can't agree on. He feels that it is the shape it needs to be, and it is an attractive vase form, but the branches are low enough to snag you as you walk by, and I keep thinking of talking a three-year plan and shaping it higher. So far, he is winning on talking me out of this.
The maples in the front, three of them, are being limbed up. They are young, less than 16 feet, and I am shaping them tall for their adult presence. I have shrubs and perennials at their feet that I hope to keep there, given I keep maple limbs high so the light comes in.
The older oak will just get a few dead twiggy limbs trimmed out, and the long narrow limb that is over the drive and that gets broken every time we get a tall truck with deliveries will be removed.
All this will happen on a weekend, soon, when the temps are above 20 degrees. Tonight our low is going to be 6 degrees. We've a bit of time before true spring arrives in the north.
In other news, I took out the week's worth of compost today. There is a certain satisfaction in watching the bin slowly fill with stuff that is stinky and unwanted, but which will turn into black gold. With such small steps is a garden made.